Patronus
by Tycho
Summary: Someone on WIKTT theorised that instead of spying on Voldy at the end of GoF, he instead took care of the Dementors. I've now set that little plot bunny free. Don't say I didn't warn you.


Patronus  
By Tycho  
Rating: R for horror themes.  
Summary: Someone on WIKTT theorised that Snape had not gone back to Voldemort to spy, but instead to take care of the problem of the Dementors at Azkaban. That set this little plot bunny running around my head. Well, now that it's free, don't say I didn't' warn you.  
Paring: some hints of future SS/HG but mostly just Snape.

Disclaimer: Everything is owned by JKR.

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There were two places in the world that Severus Snape had absolutely no desire to be within a hundred miles of: wherever Voldemort happened to be at the time and the island prison of Azkaban. Which is why it vexed him so to find that he was present at one of those by choice. The other was a very real possibility at any given moment. Merlin knew where Voldemort was or what he was up to, but at some point he would re-establish negotiations with the Dementors of Azkaban.

Which of course was why he was there. Azkaban.

All around him he could feel the presence of its guardians, the hooded and sightless Dementors. They sucked the very life out everything around them. Some wizards even believed they were the reason the northern seas were so often grey, rather than just the reflection of the overcast sky. Of course the Dementors were usually blamed for the miserable weather as well.

In a sense Severus felt a curious (and abhorrent) kind of kinship with them in that regard. He too was considered the bane of existence to those around him. Especially Gryffindors. _Eh, everyone needs a hobby._

At that point, the doors to the antechamber he was pacing opened, and he was presented with the most unusual sight of any available on the rock called home by some, and hell by others. The rest of course had long ago lost the ability to speak coherently, if at all.

Flanked by two Dementors, their hideous faces hidden deep within the cowls of their robes, moved another of their kind, in robes of deepest red. The black-red of human blood. Severus didn't care to examine them to closely. He had no desire to discover if that was exactly what had been used as dye.

But more important than the creatures choice in fashion, was the general impression it gave. The way it seemed to shuffle forward instead of moving confidently, the slight stoop of its shoulders, the deference of its companions. This Dementor seemed… old.

Severus had never heard of anyone seeing an _old_ Dementor before. Then again no-one had seen a female either. Did they even have females? Or males for that matter? Perhaps they were some androgynous thing that reproduced spontaneously. Now there was food for nightmares: the reproductive cycle of the Dementors. Severus shuddered. _It's that sort of theorizing that got you into this mess in the first place, Severus old boy. Get back to the matter at hand._

By this time the Ancient, as Severus had decided to call it, had seated itself in a hewn granite structure that vaguely resembled a throne. As he approached, he gained sudden insight as to why Voldemort's emissary of fifteen years ago had failed to sway the Dementors to the Dark Lord's side. Voldemort was a vain, arrogant megalomaniac and as a result the majority of his followers were the same. Undoubtedly the last emissary had approached the Dementors like a subject nation about to be granted a favour. Severus shuddered at the memory of that Death Eater's fate, doomed to a childlike state, waking from nightmares and screaming about 'the eyes'. But it was a well known fact that Dementors had no eyes.

Obviously a different approach was needed. Severus marched to within ten feet of the throne, and bowed deeply at the waist. "Ancient One, I bring tidings from my Master. He has been restored, and his first order was to resume his negotiations with your people."

For a time there was no response, and Severus stayed as he was, ignoring the protests of his lower back. Finally, like a breath of stale air through a swamp, words came wafting over to him, and he struggled not to show his distaste. "And what does your _master_ require of us?" The word master was seemed to be spoken with contempt, and the Ancient seemed to be virtually challenging Severus to take offense. 

"My Lord Voldemort requires nothing of your people, Ancient One. Instead he only requests that you hear his humble petition."

Again the long pause, and again Severus found that academic part of his mind wondering, _why?_ He chastised it and made a mental note to deduct points from Miss Granger upon his return to Hogwarts. It was her fault after all, that he found himself twisting along the roads of hypothesis, returning to his first love: knowledge.

Severus had begun the year with one resolution: after years of perfect marks, he would see that Gryffindor know-it-all fail publicly. A great big red 'F' painted in broad strokes across the page of one of her excessively thorough essays. Delivered at breakfast in front of everyone of course. What a delightful prospect! Even a single cross on a pop quiz would have sustained him for a few weeks.

But could the blasted girl cooperate? Of course bloody not! Not one test had a single correct answer, nor had any of her research papers come to the wrong conclusion. Even the final potion, highly experimental and purely theoretical, that he had spent two weeks on creating out of thin air, she'd replicated in the space of a week. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd gone slightly beyond his own work, Severus would have suspected her of sneaking into his office. Again!

And the nerve of the girl! Thanking him after the final exam for giving her more challenging tasks was downright… satisfying. To finally find a student, or even a colleague for that matter, that was worth his time and effort, was something that Severus had been waiting for since the first rise of Voldemort. That it was that particular Gryffindor know-it-all just added insult to injury.

Severus shook his mind out of its musing as the death-on-air that served the Ancient Dementor as a voice reached him. "Be seated, Eater of Death, and be admitted to the Court of the Drinkers of Souls."

Severus glanced around the room for somewhere suitable to sit, but finding nothing remotely resembling a chair besides the throne, he folded his legs and sat on the cold hard stone floor. It would seem that he had judged the situation correctly, and would continue in the same vein. Where another would launch into immediate discussion, or heaven forbid, _small talk_, Severus waited for permission to begin. His lessons at the feet of Voldemort had some merit after all…

"Speak."

"Fifteen years ago, my Master was a force to be reckoned with. Followers were flocking to his cause, the wizarding world was too terrified to even whisper his name and none dared oppose him openly." Severus lowered his gaze to the floor as if in shame. "Then he was brought low by some scrap of a boy."

There was silence for a moment, then he looked up, eyes full of fire. "But now the Dark Lord has returned, and he will make the world rue the day they ever vilified the name Voldemort!" Severus calmed, and continued. " But his rebirth is but new, and he needs time to rebuild his power base. Time and allies. It is in this that he seeks your aid."

Severus waited until bid to continue. "Before entering into this alliance, Lord Voldemort feels it necessary to inform you that spies have infiltrated the remaining ranks of his followers, and as such, he has deigned that should any wizard other than myself seek to gain audience with you, he should be given unto you for the Kiss. Do not fear reprisals from neither my Lord, nor the Ministry. For any spy who dares will have earned the wrath of my Master, and shall be disavowed by the Ministry. His body, of course, shall be wisely disposed of."

Severus waited for the obvious questions: "And how do we know you are not a spy? And if you are true to the Dark, what of the event of your death? What then?"

"Any servant of the Dark Lord bears his mark." Severus unbuttoned and pulled up his sleeve to display the pale mark on his forearm, thankful that Voldemort had summoned his followers the previous evening, and the mark was still partially visible. "Any who claim to be of our brethren and do not bear this mark is false, and is given unto you. As for myself, my Lord offers at the same time both gift as a sign of good faith on his behalf, and reassurance of both my loyalty and the loyalty of my successor."

The Ancient seemed curious, and so Severus elaborated. "Within these very walls are two prisoners who were known our world as L'Estrange. Both were heard to have spilled great secrets of the Dark to the Ministry's Aurors before being sentenced here. My Master gives, to seal the alliance between us, the soul of the female. She shall not be missed by any in the outside world." At these words, the Dementors seemed to become more alert, more willing to hear what he had to say. Severus had to steel his face, so as to not grin broadly and give the game away. "In the event of my death, my successor shall, upon arrival here, request that you… remove the male from life's burden."

At some unknown signal, one of the flanking Dementors moved to the doors and out of the room. The Ancient quenched Severus' curiosity. "The human is being fetched. I am sure your _master_ would be pleased to know that his gift was well received. What else does he request of us?"

Severus swallowed. He had not intended on ever witnessing the Kiss firsthand ever again, let alone so soon after the demise of Barty Crouch Jr. "M..my Lord shall, before year's end, be increasing his activities, becoming more noticable. If only by his enemies in the Ministry. Currently Fudge and the greater wizarding world are in denial of his rebirth. But nevertheless, my Lord feels it wise to remove any possibility that he shall be betrayed, however unwittingly, by one of his once loyal followers. On the day known to humans as Beltane, the Ministry shall be informed of a concerted escape attempt on the part of my brethren, all of whom were of course caught, and Kissed." Severus tamped down an insane urge to giggle. _Caught and Kissed. Sounds like a child's school yard game!_ "In reality, they are merely yours."

Silence once again ruled the tomb-like chamber, as the Ancient considered Severus' words. Minutes seemed to stretch into eternity and Severus felt his endurance begin to wane. How anyone could last more than a few hours amidst these horrid creatures without giving in to despair was beyond him. He suddenly had a deeper respect for Hagrid, who had endured weeks here, all of two years previous. _I shall have to say as much to him. We will all need to be firmer with one another over the coming years._

The Ancient leaned forward and addressed him, "Your _master_ is being very generous with his requests. They all seem to be gifts! This makes us…suspicious. Especially when his last emissary was so…demanding. Why is this so?"

Severus carefully considered his next words. His life would hinge upon their acceptance. "My Master has realised that even a strategic genius like himself can make mistakes, as long as he learns from them. Anything unforseen can tip the scales of war, as it happened fifteen years ago. During his exile, Lord Voldemort bitterly regretted his approach to your people. As such, he no longer demands your presence among his troops, and has come to realise the great benefit you could contribute to our cause, but only from the shadows. He knows that any active participation on the part of you and your…" Severus had a sudden insight into the Dementor mindset, "…children, would result in immediate reprisal from the Ministry. My Master has no desire to see ancient history repeated."

The Potions Master could see the impact this statement had upon the Dementors, as the Ancient settled back into the throne, seeming to…ponder the issue. Finally a decision was made. "It is agreed. We shall relieve your _master_ of his burdens."

At that moment, the doors opened, and a filthy looking woman was dragged in by a pair of Dementors, a third following behind. Severus could hardly recognise her as he rose from his position on the floor. But she evidently recognised him, as her wild eyes focused on his face, and sanity momentarily reasserted itself. "YOU!"

Severus did what came naturally: he sneered at her. "So sorry, my dear. But it seems that the Dark Lord has been resurrected without your help, and he no longer has a use for you. So terribly sorry." Her eyes widened as her feeble mind struggled to comprehend his meaning. Then it was her body struggling as she gibbered hysterical protestations of loyalty and 'no' and 'not the dark, please not the dark'.

Severus did his level best to ignore her.

Somehow, without his noticing, the Ancient had come to be at his side, and Severus fought off a shudder of distaste at its presence. "You are fortunate, indeed. You are about to witness what no living human has ever seen. The birth of a Drinker of Souls."

As L'Estrange's third shed its robes, Severus could not help the waves of revulsion, disgust and down right fear that rolled over him. But at the same time, he was enthralled by what he was seeing. The rarely seen head was only a hint as to the true hideousness that made up a Dementor, and this one was worse still, for some kind of growth seemed to be attached to its back. The growth dripped mucous and seemed to pulsate with a life of its own, a horrid staccato rhythm like that of a weak old man who had just run a marathon. Erratic, and ever increasing. Just when Severus thought he could bear the sight no longer, a split appeared, and the Dementor screamed in agony as something began to claw its way out.

With a hideous slithering of mucous and membrane, the creature landed awkardly on the stone floor of the chamber. It mewled like some twisted parody of a newborn kitten, then raising itself on all fours began to stalk its prey.

L'Estrange shrieked in terror, and sought refuge in the cloaks her two guards. But there was no safety to be found there, only pain and rejection as they threw her to the floor. In doing so, they blessedly blocked Severus' view of the event, although nothing could prevent him hearing her scream. A scream that was suddenly choked as the newborn Dementor had its first meal.

The two blocking his view moved aside, and Severus got a glimpse of the slack face of the woman who had once been called L'Estrange. He vaguely recalled that she had been two years above him at Hogwarts, a fellow Slytherin. Now she was a vegetable. Then he saw the newborn. It was looking right at him, hunger still plainly evident on its face. Despite the lack of eyes he had no doubt it knew exactly where he was.

A cold skeletal hand clamped down on his wrist, jarring his attention elsewhere. "There will be no need for your foul magery here, wizard." The Ancient said. Severus suddenly realised that his wand was in his hand and his mind ready and willing to cast the Patronus Charm. He glanced back in the direction of the newborn, only to find that the other Dementors were already escorting it from the room. The human vegetable was left where she was.

Words sprung formulaic to his lips while his mind struggled to deal with the past few minutes. "My apologies. I meant no offence."

The Ancient released his wrist and shuffled back. "Our business is done. You have our leave to depart." Severus numbly bowed in thanks and forced himself not to _flee_ the chamber. But as he reached the doors, the Ancient spoke again. "One last thing, Eater of Death." Severus turned to face the being robed in human blood, unable to formulate the words required. But it wasn't necessary, for it made its demand with a single word. "Black."

Severus swallowed and told one final lie, or perhaps truth, depending on how you looked at it. "You have my word, Ancient One. Should Black ever be captured by my brethren, I shall personally have the pleasure of escorting him into your presence." Thankfully that seemed to satisfy, and Severus was finally able to leave the accursed rock called Azkaban.

It was only later on the boat back to the mainland, in his idle moments between rediscovering the contents of the previous day's dinner and lunch over the leeward side of the boat, that he realised that his mind had not conjured up his original moment of happiness upon preparing to cast the Patronus. The first time he had used the charm, he had only days before received his acceptance into Stonehenge, the most exclusive Wizarding University in Europe.

Today, instead of his own rapture at the thought of academic excellence, his mind had conjured up someone else's happy moment. For some peculiar reason, the image fixed in his mind of a young woman's beaming face as she accepted full marks for a perfectly researched paper on a non-existent potion. _Bloody Granger again! Why the hell is she forever inva…_ That thought however was not finished as his breakfast was also lost to the waves.


End file.
